


you use your heart as a weapon (and it hurts like heaven)

by clarkegriffindor



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, based off an episode of Chuck bc I love that show so much, percabeth, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkegriffindor/pseuds/clarkegriffindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabeth Chase loves missions, but only when they're solo jobs, so she's reasonably disgruntled when her partner turns out to be none other than Percy Jackson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you use your heart as a weapon (and it hurts like heaven)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!!! I've been working on this spy AU for quite a bit and it's getting really long, so I've decided to post it in separate installments. The title comes from Hurts Like Heaven by Coldplay, which I had on repeat while writing this. Also, I apologize in advance because I couldn't get the italics to work. Enjoy!!!

Huffing out a sigh, Annabeth reaches into her closet. She always hates these missions to formal galas and balls because she’s got to dress up, and she would much rather catch criminals in jeans and a t-shirt. However, headquarters has called and assigned her a mission she can’t refuse, involving a lethal arms dealer that the CIA’s been trailing for months. Annabeth knows that tonight, she will be the agent to bring down Korsakov. Fighting him in heels will simply be a minor annoyance.

After rifling through the hangers for a while, Annabeth pulls out an elegant gray number that she’s worn maybe once before. It’s long and shimmering, reaching her ankles, with a slit that will make combat much less of a hassle. Annabeth smiles to herself and lays the dress on her bed. She knows that it’s a beautiful dress, but she’d rather leave all things fashion-related to her friend Silena. Silena would rush to Annabeth’s aid if she knew that she was getting ready for a gala, and Annabeth is definitely not in the mood to have Silena fussing over her hair and makeup.

She’s pilfering through the bottom of her closet for the right pair of heels to wear when her phone rings. The caller I.D. tells her that it’s headquarters, and she answers the phone with a formal, “Annabeth Chase.”

“Hey, Annabeth,” says Rachel, a woman that works at headquarters that’s about Annabeth’s age. They’re pretty friendly with each other, and Rachel’s usually the one calling Annabeth about the details of her missions. However, Annabeth had already gotten her details earlier in the week, so she can tell something’s different.

“Hi, Rachel! What’s up?” Annabeth asks.

“Your mission’s changed a bit,” Rachel says.

“How so?”

Rachel sighs into the phone. “You’re not going to like this, but you’ve got a partner.”

Annabeth eyes widen. A partner. She's been so determined to accomplish this mission on her own, but now, she’s got to deal with someone else. “Really, Rachel? A partner? Why?”

“Korsakov is too dangerous to let you go alone. Hell, we hardly know what he even looks like because he kills everyone who discovers his identity. So suck it up, Annabeth. It won’t be that bad.”

Annabeth huffs aggravatedly. In school, she’d always been the one to commandeer the group project and do the whole thing by herself. Her spy career has been different, in the sense that she can’t take quite as much control as she’d like. The other agents she gets paired with are just as highly qualified, and she’s expected to work equally with them. So as much as she dislikes it, this mission will not necessarily be executed on her own terms.

“Alright, alright,” Annabeth concedes. “So, who am I going to have to deal with tonight?”

“His name is Percy Jackson, and he’s your date. He’s already been debriefed, and he’ll meet you at the art gala at seven,” Rachel says. “He’ll be waiting outside next to the stairs.”

Annabeth rolls her eyes. She knows Percy Jackson. They’d been in training together when they were first becoming spies, and now, they’re meeting again. They’d been teenagers. She hasn’t seen him in years, but during training, they’d actually struck up a friendship. However, with the insanity of spy life, they hadn’t been able to keep in touch. Percy’s a nice guy, funny, but Annabeth has a feeling that this mission may be very interesting. He’s far too impulsive and reckless, which totally contrasts with her meticulous planning, and she’s certain that his head is full of kelp. Taking a deep breath, Annabeth thanks Rachel and hangs up. She’s not going to let that idiot compromise her chances of finally bringing down Korsakov, but she’s still got to work with him.

————————————-

As Annabeth pulls up to the hotel, she does a final check to make sure she’s prepared. Her gun is in its holster that is now easily accessible, thanks to the slit in her dress, and she thinks her curly blonde hair actually looks pretty nice, cascading over her shoulder in an elegant ponytail. Her lips are cherry red, and her gray eyes are accentuated by minimal makeup. The heels she’s chosen are decent for fighting in. Overall, Annabeth thinks she’s done a pretty good job. Silena would be proud.

Dialing Percy’s number, she steps out of her car and starts for the hotel steps. He picks up on the third ring, and says, “Hey, Annabeth!”

Annabeth smiles slightly to herself. As much as the guy is a rash, reckless idiot, his voice reminds her that she’s missed him just a little bit. “Hey, I’ll be there in a second. Just giving you a heads up.”

Percy says his thanks and she hangs up, heels clacking over pavement. She slides her phone into its slot at her hip. With all of the hand-to-hand combat she’ll be doing tonight, she can’t afford to haul around a clutch.

As Annabeth approaches the steps, she starts looking for Percy. She remembers him—tall, black-haired, and green-eyed, with a mischievous smirk that’s still ingrained in her mind after many years. Searching for a man that will match her mental depiction of him is tricky, considering the many people hanging outside the hotel and the quickly fading daylight, but she finally spots him leaning on a marble pedestal. He appears to see her coming, and straightens.

“Hey, Annabeth!” he says, grinning at her. Annabeth smiles back at him. He’s grown since she’s last seen him, taller and leaner, and his shoulders are broad. However, his smirk is still the same as it was when they were teenagers, and his eyes are the same shade of sea green. Annabeth’s breath catches. She had forgotten how beautiful those eyes were.

“Hi, Percy,” she replies, but she knows there’s not much time for small talk. They’ve got an arms dealer to take down. “So, when we get in there, be on the lookout for a man with the same characteristics that the Agency gave us. He’ll definitely have guards roaming the place. Also, all we really know about his reason for being here is that he’s trying to get his hands on some weapons-grade plutonium that should’ve been smuggled into the gala in one of the paintings. Korsakov will attempt to buy the painting. And that’s about it.”

Percy nods in comprehension. “Got it,” he says. “Now, let’s go.”

They ascend the stairs side by side, and Annabeth notices the couples surrounding them walking arm in arm. Percy seems to notice this too, because he offers her his arm, grinning. Annabeth can barely see his cheeks flush pink, but she can’t say anything because she feels her face heat up, too. So she simply hooks her arm in his, smiles slightly, and enters the ballroom.

————————————-

When they finally make their way to the gala, Annabeth’s staring up at the grand ceiling, admiring the many pillars that jut up the walls to support it. She’s always had a particular proclivity for architecture and she’d spent her youth constantly sketching, but when she’d been recruited by the CIA, she’d put those dreams aside. It feels nice to be able to admire the skillful architect’s handiwork after so many missions that didn’t involve this kind of event. Annabeth hates gala missions, but she doesn’t mind the view.

“Alright,” she says, turning to Percy, who’s gazing distractedly around the room. She nudges him in the side with her elbow, hard, and it achieves the desired effect: he’s actually paying attention. “We need to start mingling. Acting natural. If you spot anything, you’ve got your earpiece. Got it?”

Percy gives her a crooked grin, nods. “Got it, Wise Girl.”

“Wise Girl? Really, Percy? You couldn’t do better than that?”

Laughing, he replies, “I’ll be over there mingling, just like you told me,” and walks away, leaving Annabeth alone and ready to sack this arms dealer by herself. She feels for her gun, which is still securely in its holster, and steps foot into the horde of people socializing on the dance floor.

Annabeth’s got a plan of attack for this sort of situation. Other agents she knows would try to be inconspicuous and dance their way across the ballroom, shepherded by the hoity-toity elite. However, Annabeth makes her own rules, and she’ll simply stick to the fray of the crowd and mingle with the outliers while looking for possible arms dealers and their bodyguards. Simple enough.

Without paying much attention to anyone she’s talking to, Annabeth scans the area, searching for men who fit the stereotypical bodyguard characteristics: tall, burly, black suit, carrying a gun. Her eyes dance around the ballroom, flitting from one end to the other, and she sees a man who fits her description. Jackpot, Annabeth thinks. I’ll be out of here in no time.

Her path to the bodyguard is almost completely undeterred, save for a haughty-looking man who tries to pull her aside. She can tell he’s just targeting her for her looks, so she blazes right out of his grasp and continues her journey across the grandiose ballroom. She’s got no time for distractions when the bodyguard of a notorious arms dealer is right in front of her.

Annabeth notes that he’s standing by the foot of an enormous staircase beside the bathrooms, so she decides to first go into the bathroom and then pull her gun on him from behind. She touches her holster again, relishing the sense of security her weapon exudes, and makes her way toward the bathroom door, pushing it open daintily, as not to draw any attention to herself. She knows she’s got this. She’s going to deal with the guard, interrogate him by any means necessary, and find out which painting the plutonium’s stored in—and more importantly, learn the identity of Korsakov. She can do this. She’ll show the CIA she never needed a partner for this mission.

As Annabeth turns to exit the bathroom, the door swings open and her hand darts for her gun. She knows she can’t turn her gun on a civilian, so she should probably relax. However, as the figure enters the threshold, Annabeth is quick to whip out her gun, because it’s the bodyguard, but she’s not quick enough. Before she knows it, they’re grappling in the women’s bathroom, and she’s sincerely hoping the stalls are empty. A civilian can’t see her in this position—her cover will be blown.

Annabeth lands a kick in the bodyguard’s gut and he stumbles, but only slightly. Annabeth’s taller than the average girl, but this guy is huge. However, she’s too confident to admit to herself that she might be in trouble. Instead, she’s busy remembering that she’s trained in over eighty-seven different ways to kill a man.

Crack—he’s connected his elbow with her nose. Annabeth stumbles backward, her hand flying to her face. She feels the blood streaming down her skin in rivulets and knows for a fact that she’s just broken her nose. The guard uses her slight hesitance to his advantage, kicking her in the head and sending her flying to the ground, hard. He’s approaching her limp form, ready to finish her off when she lashes out, swinging her leg. He doesn’t fall over, but he stumbles enough for Annabeth to regain her composure. She won’t go down so easy.

Leaping to her feet like a kung-fu expert (which she is), Annabeth punches out as the guard is steadying himself, smashing her fist into his face. His head shoots backward, but he’s grabbing her arm and twisting it so she’s forced to turn her back to him. Then, he wraps his arms tightly around her neck, effectively putting Annabeth in a headlock. She’s struggling to breathe.

Instinctively, Annabeth uses a spy school tactic and stomps on his foot as hard as she can. He releases his grasp on her neck enough for her to escape, and when she turns to face him again, she’s gasping for air. However, this doesn’t hinder Annabeth as she lands another effective kick. The guard stumbles again, and she makes her advance, lashing out with all her might, but it’s not enough to knock him over. Annabeth’s one of the best fighters the CIA’s got, but she can’t beat someone whose stature is so much greater than hers.

During one of her strikes, the bodyguard grabs Annabeth’s arm again and punches her in the face. Her broken nose throbs and she cries out instinctively as the guard makes another attack, shoving her toward the bathroom mirror. She goes flying into the glass and it shatters around her head in huge shards. Her nose is still bleeding; she knows she’s lost this fight. Annabeth doesn’t want to admit it, but she needs help.

“Now, let’s go for a walk, shall we?” the guard says in a thick Russian accent, and Annabeth feels him press a gun to her back. She’d been disarmed earlier in the fight, and she can tell her hip holster is empty, so she’s got no other option but to do as he says.

Slowly steadying herself and shooting a glare at the guard, she turns to face the bathroom door. The cold metal presses to her bare back as she steps out of the bathroom, following the guard’s directions as she’s shepherded through the ballroom and toward the elevator bank.

The partygoers are too oblivious to notice that Annabeth has a gun pressed to her back, but that’s normal. She knows there’s probably a slim-to-none chance of her escaping without being tortured at this point. Usually, Annabeth’s hubris allows her to believe she’ll get out of these grim-looking situations relatively unscathed, but she’s actually starting to think otherwise. Her mind, surprisingly, is actually considering the fact that she needs help as the guard nudges her toward the elevator.

Annabeth looks into the crowd as the elevator approaches the ground floor, hoping that somebody will notice her predicament, but she’s not expecting anything. However, as her eyes sweep the ballroom, she locks eyes with somebody—Percy. Annabeth’s been so insistent on accomplishing the mission on her own that she’s completely forgotten that he’s there specifically to help her. And as much as she hates to admit it, help is exactly what Annabeth needs as she’s pushed into the elevator, shooting Percy a look of urgency as the doors slide together and conceal her from his lingering gaze.


End file.
